Part 56 (2/2)
But I f.u.c.king won.
The ref came and held my hand up, and I winced. The bruise on my rib cage was already a deep purple.
But I f.u.c.king won.
The crowd loved it. I was the underdog, and I'd taken down Crazy Carl.
The doc came into the cage. He was a wiry man, white-maned, beak-nosed. He knelt down and examined Crazy Carl, gave him a smelling salt. Carl came to, saw that he had lost. The expression on his ruddy face...
He knew he had lost to me. Just some n.o.body. Just some newbie. Just some f.u.c.king out-of-town punk.
The doc walked over to me. He said, ”What's your name, son?”
I spat out my mouth guard, along with a long stream of sticky blood. ”Pierce Fletcher.”
He said, ”Well, s.h.i.+t, son, that might just be the best debut I've ever seen.”
I glared at the doc. ”Don't f.u.c.king call me 'son'.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.
”Do you like it? Fighting, I mean.”
He doesn't reply immediately. Instead he eyes me like he thinks I've got some hidden motive for asking the question.
Mostly, I'm just curious. But then again, maybe I do. I don't know where this is going to go, yet.
”Yes,” he eventually says. ”I like the thrill.”
”Do you like beating people? Winning?”
”Yes.”
I nod, suck on my lower lip. ”Have you ever sent anybody to hospital?”
This time his expression changes. The corners of his lips curl down. ”Yes. Of course. It's part of fighting.”
”Did you like that?”
”I didn't force him to get into the cage.”
”You ever nearly kill someone?”
Now his face darkens. I can tell I'm wading into sensitive territory, but for some reason, I just want to keep going. Keep pus.h.i.+ng. Like he does to me.
”Yes.”
”Who was he?”
”Just some guy.”
”What happened to him?”
”I crushed his windpipe. I wasn't trying to hit him in the neck, but his dodge was too slow. I got him right on his Adam's apple. He couldn't breathe. The doc had to perform a tracheotomy right there. Cut his throat right open and shoved a f.u.c.king straw down it.”
”But he lived?”
”Yes.”
”Does he still fight?”
”Yes. He's in Brisbane now.”
”Did that make you feel good?”
Pierce now flashes angry eyes at me. ”What do you think?”
”Did you ever wonder about what if it happens to you? Something similar? Some fluke, some accident?”
”Even in pro regulated fighting people have died before,” he says. ”I don't think about it.”
”Never?”
”You think race car drivers think about cras.h.i.+ng?”
I nod my head. ”I would bet all my money that they think about it all the time.”
”Pen, you're not going to make me second-guess myself.”
”I'm not trying to,” I tell him truthfully. ”I'm just trying to understand you.”
”What's so hard to understand? I'm good at fighting. I like fighting. I like underground fighting. I do what I like. It's simple.”
”You like risking your life?”
”That's an exaggeration.”
”Fine, but what about permanent injury? Brain damage?”
”Like I said,” he says, looking away. ”I don't think about it. I've got a fight to prepare for. If you came here to bulls.h.i.+t me, you can leave.”